


The Art of the Steal

by deinde_prandium



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Heist, Thomas Crown Affair AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26000482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinde_prandium/pseuds/deinde_prandium
Summary: “This is an elegant crime, committed by an elegant man.”Katniss Everdeen, expert art insurance investigator, is hot on the trail of a stolen Monet. Her prime suspect? Billionaire Peeta Mellark. Everlark in the world ofThe Thomas Crown Affair. Originally written for Prompts in Panem. Prompt: Round 2, Day 2 (Other Worlds)
Relationships: Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 55
Collections: Prompts in Panem - Farewell Tour 2015





	The Art of the Steal

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this five years ago for PiP (!!) and realized I never cross posted to Ao3, so here we are. 
> 
> In case you were curious, this particular version is based on the 1999 remake of the film.
> 
> With many thanks to sponsormusings to encouraging me to write this, to Jessa for hosting the challenge, and to dealan for crossing fandoms once again to beta my work.
> 
> As always, I own nothing, but I borrow with love.

Peeta Mellark takes his usual seat on a bench across from Claude Monet’s _Wheatstacks_.

He’s always been drawn to Monet’s swirls of oranges and blues, capturing the sunset on canvas in a way he may can only endeavor to emulate. Pulling out a sketchbook and pencil before placing his briefcase under the bench, he goes about his daily routine of drawing the landscape before him. While recreating the works of masters in pencil may seem a strange hobby, the routine of drawing and redrawing clears his mind in a way that little else can. It’s like that old man in that French movie he’d once seen - the one who painted the same Renoir, year after year. He’d said that every year he learned something new about the figures he recreated. Peeta could relate to that. He had three sketchbooks full of the same picture to prove it.

“Ah, Mr. Mellark. Back for your haystacks, I see. Second time today, no?“

Peeta turns to see the Impressionist Wing’s lead security officer giving him a teasing grin. “What can I say, Chaff,” he replies.“I’m a creature of habit.”

“I’ll never understand why you’re so in love with this one, when everyone else is gaga for the Monet on the next wall,” Chaff observes, gesturing to the _San Giorgio Maggiore at Dus_ k. “Why, just this morning, I had a school group come through. Bunch of 8th graders. Totally unimpressed with the whole room, until the teacher told them this one was worth over a hundred million. _That_ got their attention,“ he adds with a chuckle.

“I won’t deny it’s beautiful,” Peeta concedes, “but I still prefer my haystacks. I come from a family of bakers, you know. An appreciation for wheat is embedded in my genetic makeup.”

Chaff gives a low whistle, impressed. “Bakers, huh? How’d you go from the bakery to the top of Wall Street in such a short time?”

Peeta gives him a wistful smile as he picks up his pencil once more. “That, my friend, is a story for another day.”

Taking the hint, Chaff claps a hand on Peeta’s shoulder as he turns to leave. “I look forward to hearing it. Have a good day, Mr. Mellark.”

“You as well.”

Peeta checks the time on his Rolex before resuming work on his sketch. He works in silence, tuning out the buzz of tourists hoping to catch one last glimpse of the room’s masterpieces before the museum closes for the day.

Just when he’s putting the final touches on his drawing, an alarm suddenly sounds in the adjacent room. Chaos erupts as Chaff and an army of security officers pour into the Impressionist Wing. Peeta looks up to see three men barreling toward him with an eye on the exit. Though dressed in the same maroon uniform blazers as the rest of the museum staff, the cries of _“Stop! Thief!”_ coming from the cadre of guards in pursuit clearly gives them away.

As the men pass, Peeta juts his foot out in front of him, sending one of the would-be thieves flying into his companions. Tripping over each other, their collective loss of balance is enough to allow the staff to catch up, cutting them off just as they reach the main hall.

As the guards drag the intruders away, Chaff triggers yet another alarm. A calm, detached voice announces on loop over the loudspeaker, “This wing is currently under lockdown. Please proceed calmly to the nearest exit.” Shouts mingle with beeps and blares, and the heavy metal gates that protect the contents of each room slowly begin their descent. The crowds quickly dissipate as they rush to avoid being locked in.

Amid the chaos, no one notices how or when Peeta leaves the museum.  
  
But when he’s gone, so is the _San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk_.

  
—

  
“At 5:51 this afternoon, a robbery was committed in the Impressionist Wing of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Three suspects were apprehended at the scene, but another is still at large with the stolen piece, the-” the lead detective stops to check his notes. “The, uh, _San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk_ by Claude Monet. So far, the forensic department can’t tell us anything we don’t already know. Too many people wandering in and out of the room to identify additional suspects based on prints.”

Katniss Everdeen leans against a pillar at the edge of the main hall, where a small crowd of police officers and museum staff have gathered. She takes a breath, relieved. She’s made it just in time.

She listens intently as the detective continues the briefing. “Suspects were unarmed, but based on the what we’ve found on them so far, it looks like they were planning on a huge take. Blueprints, IDs, uniforms, a fucking chopper - the whole nine yards.”

“How did they get in?” queries one of the officers.

“Snuck in with a delivery this morning. Hidden in…a ‘Greco Asian equine statue,’” he reads off the security report.

A laugh rings out in the hall. _Her_ laugh, she realizes. So much for staying incognito.

As everyone in the room turns to face her, Katniss squares her shoulders. Now is the moment to make an impression.

She knows what they see: a petite woman in a designer suit, her sleek black tresses perfectly styled, eyes shielded by a pair of dark sunglasses despite the fact that it’s almost midnight and they’re indoors. Subterfuge, all of it. A carefully constructed image she has painstakingly developed, designed to impress, disarm, and charm.

_Let them think they know who they’re dealing with. It just makes it easier to take them down._

The detective is the first to break from his trance, narrowing his eyes at the source of the disruption. “Mind telling me who you are, and what’s so funny?”

Unruffled, she blithely steps into the center of the room. “Katniss Everdeen,” she replies. “I represent the Swiss gentlemen whose interests are, shall we say, intimately tied to the fate of the stolen piece. As for the cause of my amusement - I should think it obvious. Hidden in a ‘Greco Asian equine statue’? You don’t need to have studied art history to appreciate the irony of your suspects sneaking into the Met in a Trojan horse.”

A scruffy, middle aged man in an ill-fitting suit barks out a laugh. “Good one, Sweetheart. Gotta give them credit for having a sense of humor.” He sticks out a hand, which Katniss shakes demurely. “Lieutenant Haymitch Abernathy. This here is Detective Gale Hawthorne. He’ll be running point on this one, but I’ll be here to keep his ass in line.”

“A pleasure, Lieutenant.”

Gale just glares at his partner before turning his attention back to Katniss. “So, you’re the bounty hunter, huh?”

She dismisses the pejorative with a wave. “Art insurance investigator, but I’m sure the semantics make no difference to you.”

“No, they don’t. All that matters is the investigation. _My_ investigation.”

Katniss purses her lips. Scotland Yard this is not; fancy clothes and a charming smile clearly have little effect on Detective Hawthorne. Time to switch tactics. 

“In that case, Detective, I’m sure we’ll be able to get along just fine. All that matters to me is recovering the Monet. Like you, I have a reputation to uphold.”

Katniss removes her sunglasses, her steel grey eyes fixing them with an imposing stare. “Unlike you, however, I know the art world. Which is why I know that your security report probably says the Met was due to receive an Etruscan sarcophagus this morning, not a Greco Asian horse. The museum had acquired the sarcophagus– you do know what that is, right?” she asks pointedly.

Predictably, Hawthorne takes the bait. “Yeah - a fancy word for coffin. I’m not stupid,” he grits out.

“Impressive,” she replies archly. Ignoring the dirty look he shoots her way, Katniss continues. “The Met acquired this ‘fancy coffin’ three months ago from an auction at Sotheby’s…which, incidentally, is also why I know the reason the statue was not turned away upon arrival. The auction house, you see, closed early today, and so whoever was in receiving would have had no alternative but to hold onto the shipment until the following Monday. Whoever masterminded the theft was undoubtedly aware of this, and used it to his or her advantage.”

The two officers stare at her with a stunned expression as she places her sunglasses into their case. The snapping sound the case makes as it shuts reverberates through the otherwise silent hall.

“Let me be clear, Detective. I’m not trying to take over your investigation. You and I are on the same side, and have the same goal in mind. But the sooner you understand that I am very, very good at my job, the sooner I can help you do yours. You can focus all you like on the suspects you have apprehended, but I can tell you right now that they will not offer you any more information than I am capable of gleaning from ten minutes at this crime scene.”

Gale looks away, chagrined. Haymitch smirks.

Having effectively silenced them, Katniss smiles serenely. “Now, shall we begin?”

—

“You’ve gotta lighten up about Everdeen.”

Katniss is just about to walk into the Special Investigations Division at 74th precinct, when her ears pick up on the sound of her name. She pauses in the hallway to see what else she can gather from the conversation.

“She’s involved with this investigation whether you like it or not. Came straight from the Chief,” the gruff, male voice adds.

“Who got his marching orders from a coupla Swiss bankers with their panties in a twist over a blurry picture on a sheet of canvas,” the other grumbles. Gale, she thinks. Her biggest fan. “She’ll only get in our way, Haymitch.”

“Get your head outta your ass, kid. The woman’s work speaks for itself. You should be happy she’s on our side.”

Haymitch’s voice lowers slightly. “Look, don’t be fooled. She may talk pretty, but she’s relentless. Her dad was a bail bondsman…died when she was 11, but he clearly passed his secrets onto her. Started out in the family business, before deciding that the art world was more profitable and moving to Europe.”

Katniss remains stoic at the mention of her father, pushing the painful memories away. She has to give Haymitch credit. Most never bother to look into her history, too dazzled by her polished look and art expertise. He’s smarter than that.

“So what you’re telling me is, she’s an opportunist,” Gale retorts.

“What I’m telling you is, she’s effective. You think those Swiss bankers woulda put her on a plane to Manhattan within an hour of the robbery if they didn’t think she’d get it back? Gal’s got a one hundred percent recovery rate over at Coin, Heavensbee, and Associates. She’s a fuckin’ machine.”

Deciding it’s high time she ended the conversation, Katniss breezes through the doorway. “Not bad for the daughter of a bail bondsman,” she says wryly. “Anything else you want to know?”

Haymitch doesn’t miss a beat. “Actually, I would love to get your opinion on how the whiskey in Scotland compares to here.”

“It’s much more…peaty,” Katniss replies. She decides that she likes Haymitch very much.

Clearing his throat, Gale steps in. “Uh, I was thinking we could start by going over the evidence board. We’ve also got a witness coming in this afternoon to give a statement…a Peter Mellark. Apparently he helped nab our guys before they managed to escape.”

Accepting the proffered olive branch, Katniss nods. “Excellent. Let’s get to work.”

—

The trio spends the next few hours combing through the evidence they’ve gathered. Crime scene photos and mugshots litter the board, forming a jumbled puzzle.

“Something doesn’t add up,” Katniss says as she stares at a freeze frame of the security footage.

“You got a theory?”

“I’ve got a million theories. These thieves - they had everything. Blueprints to the back hallways. A schematic of the security system. Uniforms, schedules…and most importantly, access to the security cameras to wipe the evidence of their presence clean.” Katniss pauses. “But right here, the footage for the room they planned to sweep showed them on the monitor, clear as day, while the feed for the Monet room was blank.”

“So they hacked the wrong feed. Having resources doesn’t make you smart,” Gale points out.

“Fair point,” she concedes. “But the whole scenario reads like a poor imitation of the Isabella Stewart Gardner case."

“The what now?”

Haymitch speaks before Katniss has an opportunity to reply. “1990. Five hundred million dollars worth in paintings stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum in Boston. Before your time, but still unsolved,” he adds.

“Well done, Lieutenant,” Katniss lauds before continuing. “Think about it- all the signs point to a grand heist. But if that’s the case, why do this on a Friday afternoon while the place is crawling with tourists? Even if they were successful, the chopper on standby couldn’t have held nearly the number of paintings they were planning to steal.”

“What about the briefcase?” Gale asks. “The titanium frame inside it managed to hold the gate open. It would have been enough to provide another point of escape.” 

“Maybe for a single thief, but an entire team? Seems a bit far-fetched to assume that their big escape plan was to shimmy underneath one-by-one with a bag full of canvases, Detective.”

“So what, are you saying they were set up to fail?”

“Who says they failed?” she counters. “What if the target was always the Monet?"

Katniss’ eyes gleam as the puzzle pieces come together in her mind. The connection between the two thefts cannot be more obvious - but that doesn’t mean that the thieves collaborated. It was never intended for these men to succeed - at least, not in the theft. Their success, rather, was in creating a distraction grand enough to allow for another theft to take place…one with no suspects, no evidence, and no motive.

A theft within a theft. A shell game. Brilliant.

Excitement buzzes through her. She’s on the verge of a breakthrough; she can feel it. It’s her favorite part in every case: when she stands at the edge of the stage, ready to pull back the curtain and reveal the identity of her target.

_Catching the bastard behind this one is going to be fun._

“Haymitch,” she begins again, “when you interviewed the suspects last night, what did they have to say?”

“That some guy found them on the Internet and offered ten million - two up front, with the promise to hand over the rest on delivery. No name, never met him…IT’s still working on getting a trace on an IP address, but chances are slim that they’ll come up with anything.”

“Right. So the thief finds a crew for a one-time job, hands them everything they need to pull off the heist…then, while everyone is focused on them, walks out the door with a hundred million and no one’s the wiser - oh, that’s good. That’s really good,” she chuckles.

“Great,” Gale deadpans. “You’ve figured it out. Now all we have to do is wait for the guy to try selling it and we’re in business.”

Katniss shakes her head. “He’s not going to sell it.”

Gale and Haymitch stop short. “What?”

“He’s not going to sell it. This is an elegant crime, committed by an elegant man. He’s not doing it for the money. He’s doing it for the art.”

“Well, that leaves us with shit,” Gale remarks.

“Not exactly,” she corrects, now furiously typing at the computer. “It leaves us with a very specific profile. Whoever did this has to be smart. Has to love Monet. And most of all, as to be stupidly wealthy in order to pull off a decoy of such proportions. Narrows the field considerably, no?”

Jumping up from her seat, Katniss practically sprints to the printer in her heels. “We can begin, she ventures, “by looking up recent auctions for works by Monet and identifying any rich New Yorkers who have bid on them. She grabs the paper, scanning through it like it’s a treasure map. Her eyes light up when she’s found what she’s looking for. "What did you say your witness’s name was?”

“Uh, Peter Mellark.”

“You mean, _Peeta_ Mellark?” She grins triumphantly, flipping the sheet to reveal his name listed on the auction rolls.

This is her guy. She just _knows_ it.

As if on cue, a deputy sticks his head into the room. “Detective, we’ve just finished up with Mr. Mellark in the police lineup. Gave a positive ID on all three of the perps. You want us to bring him in here to give his statement?

Gale nods. “Katniss, we’ll need you to leave for a little while we get this guy’s statement.”

Katniss juts out her chin, defiant. “ _Excuse_ me? I’ve just told you who has the painting, and you’re asking me to leave?” She looks questioningly over at Haymitch, waiting for him to back her up.

Haymitch, however, sticks by his partner. “What you’ve got,” the lieutenant responds, “is a theory. A damn good one, I’m sure of it, but still one that lacks any hard evidence. And if this Mellark guy is anything like you say, he’s not just rich. He’s connected. We can’t afford to make any mistakes. So just…take a break. You’re still on London time. Go grab a tea or something.”

“Fine,” she snaps. “I’ll be back in an hour. Let me know if he tells you where he’s keeping the Monet.”

Fuming, Katniss hastily exits the Special Investigations Division with her coat and purse in tow. _The nerve of those two_ , she thinks as she stomps down the hall. They have absolutely no idea what they’re up against.

She pauses when she reaches the elevator bank, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. _It’s just a game,_ she says to herself. _One that you’re very good at. Just keep your eye on the target._

The _ding_ of an arriving elevator brings her back to the present. When it opens, she sees the same deputy from a few minutes before, now accompanied by a handsome and impeccably dressed blond man no more than two or three years her senior.

A frisson of excitement shoots through her. This must be Peeta Mellark.

“Oh, pardon me,” Peeta says as he steps past her and out of the elevator. He looks up and gives her a smile as he makes a sweeping gesture behind him. “It’s all yours.”

Grey locks on blue for the briefest of moments, but that’s all it takes. The world stops as a flash of memories flood her senses.

_Eleven-year-old Katniss weighs the pros and cons of her decision. With a dead father, a catatonic mother, and a starving sister, she is the only chance for what’s left of her family to keep on living. But if she gets caught, they’re all as good as dead anyway._

_Steal to survive…it’s the only option._

_Fingers stealthily close over items that can fit into her father’s hunting jacket. Relief follows when she passes the grocery store cashier, seemingly unnoticed, only to break into panic when she hears the shouts of “Thief!” ringing out in the spring rain. Then, from nowhere, a blond boy with piercing blue eyes appears, pushing a loaf of bread into her arms and yelling for her to run._

_She escapes that day, with her bread and her life._

She never got to thank him. She never knew his name. But even after nearly twenty-five years, she would have recognized those eyes anywhere.

And just like that, the thrill of catching her prey vanishes. In its place, only one thought remains.

_Oh no. Not him._

**Author's Note:**

> The intention had been to work on this after completing Lost in Translation, but seeing as how I have yet to complete that fic as of this publication date, it may or may not actually happen. In the meantime, I shall mark it as complete...but you never know ;)
> 
> If you liked it, come yell at me on tumblr. I'm deinde-prandium.


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